


A Kiss From Death

by QueenOfTheMerryMen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, F/M, Gen, Illnesses, Outlawqueen - Freeform, SpookyOQ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 22:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16375895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfTheMerryMen/pseuds/QueenOfTheMerryMen
Summary: When Robin falls victim to the Black Death, Regina makes a deathly deal to save his life.





	A Kiss From Death

_ The horseman first came to him in a dream. He remembered standing in the center of a field next to his cottage, but it wasn’t as he remembered. Fog swept in from every corner. None of the flowers were there, their sweet scent replaced with the rank smell of death and decay. He took a step, hearing something shatter beneath his foot. Looking down he saw the fog clear to reveal the muddy remains of a child’s skull. He shivered at the sound of hooves approaching him from behind. Turning slowing, he saw a white horse in the distance, a man shrouded in darkness mounted on its back. He blinked and the man was suddenly in front of him, staring into his soul with eyes so clouded you could no longer see his pupils. Scales of dry skin hung from his pale grey face, the hinges of his jaw practically creaked as he opened his mouth with a hiss, the putrid stench of his breath sending Robin’s hair on end.  _

 

_ “Who are you?” whispered Robin.  _

 

_ The man silently raised his hand, reaching out to grip Robin’s jaw. The touch of him burned his skin causing him to moan in pain, as he yellowed nails dug into his cheeks.  _

 

_ Leaning closer, he whispered one word.  _

 

_ “Pestilence.”  _

 

\----------------------------------------

  
  


He woke up in a cold sweat, his chest heaving and his eyes squinting against the harsh light of day. Glancing out the window, he saw the fields still in bloom, birds chirping from the trees. No sign of the horror that had seeped into his dreams. 

 

His wife stirred in her sleep, opening her eyes to stare at him, curiously. “What’s wrong, my love?” 

 

He sighed, relieved, and shook his head. “Nothing milady… just an unpleasant dream.” 

 

Unconvinced, she reaches out to caress his cheek with the back of her hand, her eyebrows knitting together when she feels the warmth rising from his skin. “You’re burning up.” 

 

“Oh.” He raises a hand to his forehead, surprised by how damp his skin feels. “It must’ve been a warm night.” 

 

Still she frowns at him, worry clear in her dark brown eyes. Forcing a smile to his face, he reaches for her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’m fine. I only need a drink of water.” 

 

Climbing out of their bed, he tries not to let it show how much his muscles and bones ache in protest. His throat feels dry as he makes his way to their well and tosses down a bucket. Pulling it up he looks around field, distrustful. In his dream it’d been a desolate wasteland surrounded by bare trees, reeking of death. He’d never had a dream feel so real. 

 

The bucket sloshes with water as he pulls it up. Unable to wait another moment to quench his thirst, he dips his hand inside, sipping water from his curved palm. Closing his eyes, he relishes the feel of it cooling him from the inside out. 

 

Underneath his skin he feels a presence, a darkness, watching over him. Open his eyes, he looks around again, making certain that he’s alone. His dream must’ve affected him more than he’d wanted. He must be going mad. 

 

Then, staring down into the bucket, he paused. His reflection glimmered in the unsteady surface on the water but it almost looked like… there was a rash on his cheek. Raising his hand to his skin, he felt a dry, flaky patch and remembered yellow fingernails digging into his cheek, putrid breath invading his senses. 

 

_ Pestilence…  _

 

The fever and rash were just the beginning but the minute they appeared he knew his fate was sealed. He’d heard tales in the village, horror stories about the Black Death. Men, women and children all swept away by its undiscerning ruthlessness. Even the king’s wife had been taken. No one was safe. 

 

It always started with a fever. And always ended with a hallucination. Supposedly a woman, with red lips and soulless eyes and a kiss on her lips to send you off.  

 

By the end of the first day his skin was on fire. Drenched in sweat he was confined to bed, his only company the wooden bucket where he sent the remains of food he was foolish enough to eat that day. For days his head thumped and rattled with pain, as his wife whispered sweet nothings to him as she pressed cool wet cloths to his forehead. Visions flickered before his eyes as he faded in and out until one day they came. 

 

The sound of his wife’s cries reached his ears that morning, she was sobbing, beating on the chests of four reapers with the bodies of men but the faces of birds. He shivered in bed, every inch of him screaming in pain as one of them observed him with dark blank eyes, its beak inches away from his face. Robin moaned in fear as his wife implored them to save him. 

 

“You are healers,” she reminded them. “There must be something you can do for my husband. He is a good man.” 

 

“So were many of the other victims of this illness,” said one of the reapers, his voice echoing unnaturally from its beak. “But once this disease shows its face, it’s already too powerful to defeat. I’m sorry. The Black Death will take your husband.” 

 

Eyes red-rimmed she fell to her knees by the bedside. Her hand gripped onto his, as tears ran down her cheeks. “My love… I’m so sorry for what they’ve done to you.” 

 

The reapers voices echoed through the cottage as they urged her to abandon him. The plague will claim anyone it comes in contact with. To stay by her husband’s side would be to condemn herself to death. 

 

Perhaps it was the fever but he swore the walls shook as she ordered them to leave their home. 

 

She never left him. Every time he opened his eyes she was there, whispering to him, nursing him as best she could, promising that god as her witness she would fix this. That he wouldn’t be taken. With sores in his mouth he could hardly tell her to leave. He was a dead man, even through the delirium of his fever he could see that. There was no saving him. 

 

The last time he saw his wife... she wasn’t alone. 

 

Chills had settled in, causing his body to shake and shiver beneath the blankets. He was sure that every breath he was certain to be his last. The last time he saw her was awakened by the neighing of a horses. When he opened his eyes he saw her by his bedside arguing with three other women. 

 

“You had no right,” she growled beneath her breath. “Turning loose Pestilence was against our agreement! As was bequeathing him my horse!” 

 

“What else could we do?” A blonde woman with red-rimmed eyes spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. Bones poked through her grey skin, as she judgingly studied two scales she’d set beside the window, adjusting them with piles of grain. “You neglected your duties Regina.” 

 

“And now we see why.” A brunette woman with a crown on her head, stepped closer to the bed, regarding him with a smirk. “I should’ve known you’d be enticed by a mortal. You’ve had a soft spot for them since the day you were handed your scythe.” 

 

Regina glared at her, stepping in front of the bed, protectively. “That is none of your concern, Conquest.” 

 

“Isn’t it?” A with sun-kissed skin in blood red armor, raised an eyebrow. Sharpening a sword nearly the length of her own leg, she nodded toward him. “Is he not the reason you’ve called us here?” 

 

His wife swallowed hard, glancing back toward him. “Save him.” 

 

Conquest snorted. “Excuse me?” 

 

“Save… him!” she ordered, her voice sharp and angry. “You’re responsible for this. You will undo it! Now!” 

 

“That’s not within our power,” whispered the blonde woman, looking a bit guilty. “If Pestilence has cursed him with an affliction there’s nothing we can do.” 

 

Still shaking with anger, Regina stared at each of their faces. “Please…,” she hissed. “He’s in pain.” 

 

The woman in armor, raised her sword. “Well if it’s pain you’re worried about I can certainly put an end to that.” 

 

She stepped toward the bed and in an instant was thrown back against the wall, clutching at her throat. Robin’s eyes widened as he saw his wife step toward her, veins pulsing across her skin with dark ink and he eyes clouded to the emptiest black. Hand outstretched she approached the woman in armor who still struggled against the wall. 

 

“Do not lay a hand on him.” Her voice rattled as it boomed against the walls, candles flickering as she spoke. “You may be the Horseman of War but… I am Death itself. Test me… and you will fail.” 

 

Conquest regarded her coolly. “We are not the ones who have forgotten that.” 

 

Regina let her hand drop to her side, turning to Conquest with confusion on her face. The other woman approached her, pity clear in her eyes. “You’ve let yourself pretend for far too long, Regina. You’ve forgotten all that you can do.” 

 

“What are you talking about?” she whispered. 

 

The blond woman abandoned her scales. “You summoned us here to save your beloved mortal… but the only person capable of such a thing is you.” 

 

Conquest held out her hand, summoning a cloud of smoke. When it dissipated, a glimmering scythe rested in its place. She held it out to his wife, a stern look on her face. “You were assigned a duty Regina, one you abandoned for love. Take it back and you’ll have the power to save yours.” 

 

“You are the only one of us with the power to overrule Pestilence,” War reminded her. “So take the Scythe, reclaim your horse and save your beloved.” 

 

His wife’s eyes grew tearful as she stared down at the Scythe, breathless. Turning away, she walked over to the side of his bed, lovingly caressing his cheek. “If I leave with you… I’ll never be able to return to him.” 

 

The blond woman rested a hand on her shoulder, sympathetic. “If you stay, he perishes.” 

 

Regina let out a shuddering breath. “Leave us.” 

 

Without another word, the women vanished, leaving the two of them alone. A sob fell from his wife’s lips as she rested her head against his chest. Muscles paralyzed with pain, he failed to wrap his arms around her. His vision blurry, he could barely make out her face as she rose and placed her hands on the side of his. All he could see were her dark eyes and blood red lips. 

 

“I will never love anything as much as I love you,” she whispered. “Your life is the only one that has ever mattered.” 

 

Her lips pressed against his were the last thing he remembered before the darkness. 

 

\--------------------

 

When Robin recovered his wife was gone. Vanished in the dead of night. 

 

Some say she succumbed to illness when he didn’t. Others believe she abandoned him, unable to watch him die. 

 

All anyone knows is that the day she vanished so did the Black Death. Robin was healed, so were others. Illness no longer runs through the town, healers remove their terrifying masks. 

 

Robin’s wife never returns to him but he can never shake the feeling that she’s there. Some nights he’ll hear the hooves of a horse, look out his window and see the familiar glimmer of a certain scythe and he’ll know it’s her. 

 

Waiting for the day when she can give him another proper kiss. 


End file.
